


to run (away)

by thedarknesswithin (babylxxrry)



Category: Figure Skating RPF
Genre: Ambiguous/Open Ending, Angst, Character Study, Gen, This is not a shippy fic, i used the slash tag to make it searchable
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-02-10
Updated: 2019-02-10
Packaged: 2019-10-25 11:46:13
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,429
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/17724584
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/babylxxrry/pseuds/thedarknesswithin
Summary: a turning point is reached. deniss can't keep doing this.





	to run (away)

**Author's Note:**

  * For [natalia_fois](https://archiveofourown.org/users/natalia_fois/gifts).



> it's been a long day. i meant to sleep but this happened instead.
> 
> disclaimer: this is fiction. i don't know what's actually happening and i'm not pretending to. further (spoilery) disclaimers in the end notes. 
> 
> for natalia.

They’re eating dinner in silence. Deniss keeps his eyes on his food and away from the person across from him. The people around him are chattering and laughing, background static to the room. Deniss eats mechanically, efficiently working his way through his plate the way he has for the past… well, however long it’s been since Euros. Stephane keeps trying to make conversation with him, little prompting statements and questions, and frankly, Deniss is tired of answering in single sentences and words. He finishes his plate and stands up, taking it to the kitchen.

Stephane appears behind him not thirty seconds later. Deniss keeps rinsing his plate.

“Deniss? Is everything okay? Are you okay? Are you sick?” Fuck Stephane and his concern and his questions. Why all of it now, if not earlier?

“I’m fine, Steph,” Deniss mutters. “Just tired.”

“Are you sure? This isn’t how you act when you’re sick.” Stephane sounds genuinely worried, and it only serves to fuel Deniss’ annoyance.

“I said I’m fine. I’ll sleep early tonight.” Deniss finally abandons the plate and utensils and turns around to leave. Stephane stays in the doorway, blocking his path.

“I’m worried about you. What’s happening, Deni?” The nickname and the question, syrupy sweet and soft and understanding and _kind_ and _caring,_ is what tips Deniss over the edge.

He explodes. “Are you _fucking_ kidding me, Stephane? _Are you fucking kidding me?_ ” The chatter has gone silent from the dining room, and Deniss knows he should shut up, take this to a private place, but he can’t be arsed to care anymore. “You have the _audacity_ to ask me if I’m okay _now_?”

Stephane looks stunned, but recovers himself. “You’re clearly not. Do you want to talk about it?”

“God, Stephane, for someone so goddamn smart you can be awfully _stupid_ sometimes. Do you _really_ want to know why I’m barely scraping by in training? Do you really want to know why the fuck I’ve barely been able to get out of bed long enough to keep myself alive?” Deniss can see Stephane’s hackles rising, can see a combination of deep concern and anger taking over his eyes. He keeps going.

“Maybe it’s because it doesn’t seem to fucking _matter_ to you how I do anymore. Maybe it’s because I can’t possibly do anything well enough to mean _anything_ , at least not enough for you to invest even a _shred_ of energy into what I do. So why the fuck should I keep trying when you have all of your new students? All of your new pet projects? Why should I even _try_ to compete for your attention when god knows I don’t deserve it. Go and devote the time to Koshiro and Luke and all of your fucking choreography projects. Go spend it with _Emmi,_ for fuck’s sake.” Deniss doesn’t mean to spit her name like it burns him to say it, but maybe it does. “Do you even know why Matilda has been so distant recently? Have you even _realized_ that she’s been distant?”

“I-” Stephane starts, then stops, and it’s all the answer Deniss needs.

“ _No_ , of course you haven’t, because when you latch on to a new person, a new pet project, you leave the rest of us failures back here where you don’t have to deal with us and our old mistakes. All you look for is the future, the next project, the next choreo job, whatever _passion_ you might discover next. And we suffer for it. _I_ suffer for it. I hope you’re happy doing what you love, I really do, but maybe someday you can spare a thought for your old favorite _toy_. I’m trying my best to work with all the changes, but it’s _hard_ , Steph, it’s _hard_ when you know you’ll never be as technically correct, as beautiful, as _good_ of a skater as anyone around you. It’s _hard_ when you know you’re not important. And I’m trying _so hard_ to stay afloat, to keep fighting, but it’s hard when I know I don’t matter to you anymore.”

“No, Deni-”

“I’m going to bed. Goodnight, _Stephane._ ”

Deniss watches Stephane’s eyes widen before he shoulders past him and heads for his room. He passes the dining table on his way, and everyone stares at him before they all turn as one and pretend they didn’t hear a thing.

The door closing is the thing that snaps Deniss out of his anger and back into the deep ache that’s taken up all the space in his chest since Euros. He slumps against the door, fighting back the mess of thoughts that once again threatens to pour in and drown him.

He’s not surprised to hear a knock.

“What,” he calls, sharp and bitter.

“Deniss, it’s me. Can we just talk about one thing before you sleep?” Stephane’s voice is soft again, soothing, like he’s talking to a wild animal, and Deniss wants to curse him for it but he finds he doesn’t have the strength to.

Deniss pulls himself to his feet. He opens the door to see Stephane on the other side, worrying his lip between his teeth. His hair is a mess, the way it is when he runs his hands through it too much, and his eyes are so, so tired. Deniss almost feels bad for him. Almost.

“Deniss, I asked you about new people, remember?”

And oh, God, this is where this is going. Deniss sighs and the ache in his chest grows. He wants to punch it until it disappears.

“Yes.”

“And you said yes to all of them. Each one,” Stephane says almost pleading, as if he’s appealing to some deeper part of Deniss that doesn’t mean each and every word left in the kitchen.

“What was I supposed to do?” Deniss asks, feeling tears well up. Curse his eyes and their need to give away every emotion. “What was I supposed to say? No? You wanted them to be here, you wanted them to train with you.” The tears start to fall, and Deniss can’t find the energy to fight it anymore. “I wasn’t going to say no, because I wanted you to do what made you happy, and this makes you happy. You _like_ having people around to mentor and coach. I don’t, and that’s my own issue. I don’t like having so many around, having to share you with all of them, but this isn’t my skating school. It’s yours.” Deniss knows he’s crying, can feel himself shaking. His breath trembles, and he watches Stephane swallow hard. “It’s yours, Steph. This is your dream, just like you told me when I first came here. You’ve wanted this for so long, why would I stop you on account of my own problems? I couldn’t do that.”

Stephane looks sad, deeply so. It’s like he’s aged twenty years in the space of ten minutes, a new burden sitting heavy on his shoulders. Deniss thinks he should be feeling sad, but he’s just numb, like he’s watching this play out in third person. He wants to feel sad, wants to feel mad, wants to just feel _something_ , but he can’t.

Stephane steps forward, arms coming up for a hug.

Deniss brings his own up reflexively to cross over his stomach.

“Please don’t touch me.”

The words are out of his mouth before he even realizes he thought them.

Stephane flinches hard as though he’s been slapped, his arms falling back down to his sides. Deniss knows he’s crossed a line.

“Steph-” Deniss says, watching the pain flicker in Stephane’s eyes. “I’m sorry.”

“No, Deni. You’re not. And it’s okay,” Stephane says, voice strangely empty of emotion and so, so quiet. Too quiet. It’s not okay. “I hope you sleep well. I’ll see you in the morning.” He turns and starts walking slowly down the hall, shoulders slumped.

“Wait.”

“What, Deniss?” Stephane pauses, not turning.

“I’m sorry. I really am.” Deniss says, and it’s not entirely a lie.

Stephane sighs, inclining his head just enough to catch Deniss’ eyes. “Goodnight, cheri.”

“G-Goodnight.” The pet name throws Deniss for a loop. He doesn’t know if it was automatic on Stephane’s part, or if it was intentional, but either way, it punches through the numbness and every emotion comes rushing back in.

Deniss closes the door and sits heavily on his bed. He’s dizzy, his head pounding and chest aching and the world is spinning and he can’t quite breathe right. He wraps himself up in his duvet and curls on his side.

He cries himself to sleep.

 

 

//

**Author's Note:**

> secondary disclaimer: i am, indeed, frustrated with stephane and his current/recent uptick in amount of work/students, and the negative correlation with deniss' performances this season. however, this is once again fiction, so don't take any of what i say as fact. also i have no issue with emmi.
> 
> possible sequel to come, depending on how things go.
> 
> thank you for reading!


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